


Blood, Sweat, and Panic Attacks

by grimm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimm/pseuds/grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're out for a run and you see a wolf in the woods, it's probably best you don't stick around, right? Your dad would hate that you hitchhiked, but he'd hate you getting mauled even more, you're pretty sure. And if the dude that picks you up just happens to look like a Greek god, what of it? You'll never see him again, anyway. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood, Sweat, and Panic Attacks

**Author's Note:**

> The were lore is a bit different in this fic, but it's an AU, so what else can you expect? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

When Stiles went to college, he hadn’t expected to have such a rough time of it. For years, he’d been surrounded by people he saw every single day, and knew intimately – his father, Scott – and their sudden disappearance from his life had hurt more than he’d anticipated. He felt like Watson after Sherlock Holmes died, he told his father over the phone one evening. Totally lost.

“Stiles,” his father sighed, “no one’s _died_.”

“I know.” Stiles squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m just saying—”

“There were other schools closer to home. You chose that one.”

“I know,” Stiles said again. The fact that he’d gotten into such a good school was a source of major pride for him, and even though, yes, there had been other choices, it almost felt like he was setting himself up for failure by not going to the best. He wasn’t stupid. People always seemed to assume he was, maybe because of the way his quick mouth always got him in trouble, but that was just poor judgment, not stupidity. When he took his meds and focused, he was, well, maybe not an excellent student, but good enough. Good enough to avoid community college, which is where Scott ended up. 

The first semester away from home had been hard. Stiles was a talker, and when there was no one to talk to, he talked to himself, which made him feel a little crazy, and more than a little lonely. Things got better, though; he made friends, and did well enough in his classes to boost his confidence, which in turn helped him find more friends. He was happy. Mostly. 

And so here he was, in finals week of his first junior semester, bogged down with coursework and papers for his major classes. He was double majoring in Elementary Education and Child Psychology, which had surprised Scott, but not his father. Stiles didn’t care that most of the other people he knew laughed when they found out; he remembered what a struggle school had been before his ADHD had been diagnosed, and he wanted to help kids, make it easier. 

He sat hunched over his desk, feet hooked under the rung of the chair beneath him. His homework, a fake lesson plan for a third-grade science class, lay before him; to the side, empty cartons of Chinese takeout suggested that he’d been there for a while. He sat back his chair, leaning backwards on two legs, tapping a pair of chopsticks against the desk like drumsticks while he tried to think of an experiment that would keep third graders enthralled. The clock on the wall said twenty to midnight. Stiles eyed it wistfully. He’d promised himself he’d stop at twelve and reward himself with an episode of Game of Thrones before going to bed.

There was a knock on his door and he nearly overbalanced, only catching himself when his knees caught under his desk. “Jesus, Danny,” he hissed, turning to look at his roommate. 

“Sorry,” Danny said, grinning wryly and not looking sorry at all. He nodded at the papers spread over Stiles’ desk. “Are you going to be at that much longer?”

Stiles bent an arm behind his back, using a chopstick to reach a scratch. “Hopefully not. Why?”

“Do you want to be my booty call tonight?” Danny asked hopefully. “Matt’s not picking up his phone.”

Stiles gave a long sigh, tapping the chopstick against his lips. “I wanted to watch some Game of Thrones,” he grumbled. Though, he thought, he hadn’t jacked off today. Yet. Danny didn’t try to persuade him one way or the other; he simply stood in the doorway, waiting patiently for his response. “Fine,” Stiles said a moment later. 

Danny grinned. “Cool. Your room or mine?”

Stiles thought some more. “Yours,” he said eventually. “I just washed my sheets.”

Danny nodded and disappeared from the doorway. Stiles sighed again and rose to his feet. He set down the chopsticks and tidied the papers on his desk until they were somewhat organized, then headed for Danny’s room.

It was a strange relationship. Nah, Stiles thought, you couldn’t even really call it that. It was more of an arrangement. A mutually beneficial agreement. He and Danny fucked sometimes, when Danny couldn’t find anyone else, but there was nothing more to it. He liked Danny, sure, but on a purely platonic level. Danny was a good kid, kind and reliable, but with the unnerving habit of never lying about anything, including what he was thinking. It was probably the reason why he had a problem maintaining relationships; people had a problem handling that level of bluntness. And Stiles, well…

Stiles couldn’t connect. His entire college experience had been a series of hook-ups, with men and women alike. It was utterly empty. There had been a few of them that wanted something more, but Stiles hadn’t. He couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t look at people and feel his heart flutter or his cheeks grow warm. He liked sex, sure; that was why he hadn’t stopped the one-night stands, but his horniness could not be mistaken for attraction. The loneliness hurt, almost too much sometimes, but until he found someone, anyone, he’d keep trying to fill it with meaningless sex. 

After Danny fucked him into the mattress, Stiles wandered into the kitchen. He still lived in the dorms, which he hated admitting to people, but they were apartment style, so he didn’t feel like such a huge loser. The answer to the inevitable “You still live in the dorms?” always started with him saying, “Yeah, but it’s like an apartment, so it’s cool.” As if it made any difference. There was a tiny kitchen, tinier bathroom, small living room (complete with two hugely uncomfortable chairs, no couch), and two small bedrooms. And a closet that was barely big enough for a broom and two coats. It wasn’t worth what he was paying the school for, but he didn’t really care. He had a desk and a bed, and that was about all he needed. 

Feeling too lazy to shower, Stiles dampened a paper towel under the faucet and wiped the lube and Danny’s jizz from his thighs, and his own spunk from off his stomach. Then he poured himself a glass of water and stood in the silence, staring absently out the kitchen window. 

The dorm building sat at the top of a long, grassy hill that bottomed out in one of the soccer fields. There were woods beyond that, and a quiet suburb somewhere beyond. He was just about to turn away when movement out on the field caught his eye, and he leaned forward. The metal edge of the kitchen sink burned cold on his bare stomach, but he ignored it, narrowing his eyes in a weak attempt to see into the semi-darkness. There it was again. 

Stiles’ soft brown eyes widened. A huge black dog went trotting across the pitch, casual as you please. He watched it, waiting for an owner to emerge, but none did. The dog circled the field once, twice, then loped into the woods. Stiles leaned back and shook his head. “It’s like freakin’ Harry Potter,” he muttered, leaving his glass in the sink and retreating to his room. 

He watched the promised episode of Starks and Lannisters (could be a board game, he thought drowsily, shutting his laptop. Like Snakes and Ladders.) and laid back in bed, his eyes drifting shut. Somewhere outside, far off in the distance, a dog howled and he shuddered faintly. “Fuck you, Grim,” he mumbled, before falling asleep entirely. “You ain’t getting me.”

-

The rest of finals week slid by painfully slowly. Stiles heard howling outside his window every night, and he wasn’t the only one. On the morning before his final exam, he was waiting in line for coffee at the campus deli and heard the girls behind him talking about it. 

“I think it’s a wolf,” one of them said. 

The other said, “My roommate said her boyfriend saw it crossing the road. Do you think we’re safe?”

Stiles snorted to himself. Their school was notorious for not dealing with issues until they became near lawsuits. There could be a grizzly bear in the student center, mauling students, and until some Malfoy stood up and said, “Just wait until my father hears about this,” the school would happily ignore it. 

He mentioned the wolf – or dog, or Grim, or whatever - to his father over the phone the following night, as he packed his things, getting ready for the six-hour drive back home to Beacon Hills. 

“Stiles,” his father said patiently, “there are no wolves in California.”

“Hmm,” Stiles mused, chucking clothes haphazardly into his suitcase. “I thought I saw it, Dad. It was pretty big. I don’t know if it was a dog. It looked like a small pony.” He thought about this for a second. “Okay, maybe not that fat.”

“It was a Newfoundland or something,” his father replied, always logical. “The howling’s probably coyotes. Just be careful on the road tomorrow. I don’t need to be paying for any more repairs on that piece of crap you drive just because you hit a dog.”

“You bought me that piece of crap,” Stiles reminded him. “You _could_ have bought me a nicer piece of crap. Premium crap. _Executive_ crap, even. Deluxe crap, Dad!”

“I’m returning all your Christmas presents, you ingrate,” his dad grumbled, and Stiles laughed.

-

Winter break turned out to be nothing like Stiles hoped it would be. He usually spent the month off playing lacrosse with Scott, or video games with Scott, or running around drunk in the woods with Scott. His world in Beacon Hills basically revolved around his father and Scott, and now Scott had a girlfriend. Stiles tried hard not to be jealous, but it was hard when Scott spent fifty percent of his time with Allison, and the other fifty percent with Stiles, pining over Allison. There was a lot of eye-rolling on Stiles’ part. 

Mostly, Scott’s absence – because he wasn’t really there, even when he was there – made Stiles realize just how lonely and miserable he felt. Sitting in the quiet house while his dad was at work, it was like the months of stress and being alone had finally hit him, and it hurt his heart deeply. He wondered if he should start seeing a therapist again, like he had after his mom died. 

Somehow, the thought was too bleak, and so he took up running instead. Get exercise, his first therapist had told him. It’ll get your mind off things. Stiles was surprised at how well it worked; he’d never been the most physical of people, but the feeling of the blood rushing through his veins did something positive for him. He even tried to get his dad, who was getting a bit plump from all those Ring Dings he thought he’d cleverly hidden under his bed, into it, but the sheriff tired a lot easier than Stiles, and he stuck to running solo. 

Stiles kept up the habit even after he went back to school. He went for runs in the evenings after class, because even with his level of newfound dedication, he could not force himself to get up early and go running. Early mornings were not in the Stilinski blood; there was a reason why all of his classes were in the afternoon. Instead, he kept to the evenings, when the air was cool and the roads were mostly quiet. 

In this peaceful twilight zone, he met the wolf.

It was a Friday evening. He was supposed to go out later with Danny and his latest boyfriend, Jackson, but that was still far off; plenty of time for a run before the sun set completely. He was coming home, running steadily through the red light of the setting sun and the deepening shadows, when he realized something was pacing him. 

Stiles didn’t like running with music in. He liked to listen to his surroundings, to try and be aware when cars were around him, or when other runners were behind him and wanted to pass. He didn’t like the thought of being so cut off from the rest of the world that he couldn’t tell when there was someone else nearby, and so maybe it was lucky, or maybe it wasn’t, when he noticed the wolf.

He heard it before he saw it; there were trees beyond the edge of the road, thick with underbrush and dark with shadow and fading light. His ears, keen from years of being on the alert for his father about to burst into his room while he was masturbating, picked up the soft sound of rapid footfall off to his right, and the rustle of leaves as something passed through the brush. Stiles didn’t slow his pace; as stated before, he wasn’t stupid. Being faster than, or at least keeping pace with some unknown force was better than being slower than it. Instead, he watched the shadows, and saw something darker than everything else go slipping past. His breath hitched in his throat. 

“Shit,” he murmured, thoughts instantly sliding to the wolf. “Shit shit shit.” This was like the beginning of a bad horror movie, and Stiles had seen far too many. He stuck out his arm and raised a thumb to passing traffic, not slowing his pace. It was toward the tail end of rush hour now, not too many cars on the road, but maybe someone could give him a lift. 

Several cars passed him before one pulled off on the shoulder just ahead of him, some flashy black sports car. He sighed with relief and jogged over to the car, leaning down to the open window. The light was too low now for him to see the driver’s face well, so he had to hope it wasn’t some weirdo. 

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “Thanks so much. I don’t usually do this, but I started cramping up, and I just—”

“Where do you need to go?” 

Stiles blinked. Well. Okay. The guy’s voice was about as warm as a bucket of ice, but he seemed to be offering him a ride so Stiles wasn’t going to push his luck. “Just down the road to the college.”

“Get in, then.” It wasn’t much of an invitation, more of a command, but Stiles obeyed without another word. The door opening triggered the interior light, and he glanced over at the driver, hoping to see his face, but the man was looking over his shoulder, watching approaching traffic. What Stiles could see of him was a sharp jaw line covered in blue stubble, and perfect cheekbones, and _Jesus Christ_ , he’d been offered a ride by what appeared to be a Greek god. 

Stiles shut the door and the man peeled off almost immediately. Stiles watched him out of the corner of his eye. He could see a pale eye and impressive, angry eyebrow. He licked his lips nervously. God, his heart was pounding like a frickin’ _drum_ , and it was _not_ from all the running he’d just been doing. “Thanks for the ride.” 

The man shifted and grudgingly said, “No problem.”

Stiles twisted his hands together. He could feel sweat running between his shoulder blades. He probably stank of sweat. Jesus fuck, why was he so nervous? “What kind of car is this?” He tried to stop there. He tried so hard, but his mouth kicked into automatic and there was no stopping it. “Does it get good gas mileage? I have this Jeep – it’s the shittiest thing in the world, and it just, like, sucks up gas. I think my dad only got it for me because it’s got roll bars, and he thinks I’m terrible driver, so—” Stiles paused to take a breath and realized the man was staring at him. It was hard to see his expression in the twilight gloom, but he looked a bit shell-shocked. “Sorry,” Stiles mumbled.

The man looked back at the road. Stiles stared fixedly out the window, his cheeks burning. They drove for about half a mile before the man offered, “It’s a Camaro.”

Stiles jumped. “What?”

“The car. It’s a Camaro,” the man explained. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth. 

“Oh.” Stiles bit his lip. “So…good gas mileage?”

“Not the best,” the man replied, after a pause. “Muscle cars are like that.”

“Oh,” Stiles said again. He really didn’t know anything about cars. “Is it fast?”

Another pause. “Faster than your Jeep, I’m sure.”

Stiles laughed. They were rolling through campus now, and the man said, “Where do you need to go?”

Stiles peered out the window. His dorm was just up the hill. He should be able to make it, even with a wolf on his heels. “Right here’s fine.”

The man obligingly pulled over to the curb and rolled to a smooth stop. Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt. He told himself that the shaking in his fingers was because he needed to eat, not because he was nervous. “Thanks for the ride,” he said again, his fingers on the door handle. “You really saved me. Can I give you any money for gas or anything? I hear this car doesn’t get the best mileage.”

He realized, belatedly, that he didn’t have any money on him, but the man waved a hand casually. Stiles nodded and climbed out of the car. He shut the door and turned to the open window. “Thanks again. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” the man said sternly, and zoomed off into the night. 

Stiles watched his headlights disappear, his heart pounding hard in his chest. “Jesus,” he hissed, putting a hand over his heart. Of course, just when he thought he couldn’t get any more miserable, he had to get a ride from a fucking Adonis, like the world had to show him what he’d never have. He waggled a finger toward the woods and muttered, “This is all your fault, you stupid Grim.” To his surprise, a howl came ringing back through the trees toward him and he burst into a nervous sprint, retreating to the safety of his dorm.

-

Classes started again the next day, and Stiles felt like death. He and Danny and Jackson had stayed out until the bars closed at two. He had had way too many Jagerbombs (he didn’t even _like_ Jager, but they were on special at the bar, and he was a sucker for a good deal). They hadn’t even got back to the dorms until nearly three, and then he’d had to listen to his roommate have the loudest sex he’d ever not been a part of. End result: two hours of sleep. Could you even call that sleep? That was more like a nap. 

Signing up for an eight o’clock class had not been his first choice, but he’d somehow ended up low on the totem pole when it came time for scheduling his classes, and all the afternoon slots were already full. It was a pretty unpleasant shock when he woke up at 7:50 and remembered this fact. 

After getting dressed and sprinting across campus (pausing once along the way to vomit into a recycling bin (sorry, Mother Earth)), he dashed into class with a minute to spare. He found a seat near the back of the room, threw down his books (at least he’d remembered those), and collapsed in his seat. The professor came in and Stiles spent the next ten minutes not listening to the woman going over the syllabus, and instead wishing fervently that he’d had time to grab a greasy breakfast sandwich or, at the very least, a massive cup of coffee.

As the class progressed, Stiles looked around the room, not paying much attention. First day stuff was never important; he was more interested in who was in the class. It was a higher-level psychology course, which meant that most of the students in it were some sort of psychology major. Stiles didn’t actually need to take it; he was just trying to fill in some extra credits. A higher-level course meant that it was smaller, too, only about forty kids, and he always tried to scope out the smart kids for the inevitable group projects in the future.

He spotted his friend Boyd down near the front, his long legs splayed before him, his large body crammed into the seat. He too looked as though he wished he were dead, heartening Stiles slightly. Maybe he wouldn’t be the first to go puke in a trashcan during class. And then…shit. There was his Adonis from last night, just a row below him. Stiles stared. He recognized that jaw line, the firm downward turn of the mouth. Now that he could see him in daylight, Stiles could see he was even more handsome.

“Damn it,” he mumbled under his breath. “It’s just not fair.”

Down below, his Adonis turned his head slightly, as if he’d heard Stiles, and Stiles quickly lowered his eyes to his desk. When he chanced to look again, Adonis had turned his grim face back to the professor. Well, shit. If the first class was representative of the rest of the semester, Stiles was going to learn very little, as he was too busy staring at a certain Tall, Dark, and Surly. 

-

Three nights later found Stiles out running. It was well after dark – his last class of the evening didn’t get out until seven – so he carried a heavy-duty Maglite he’d taken from his father’s office several years back. If anything, he reasoned, he could bash in the wolf’s head if he was attacked. It made him feel slightly more safe. 

He was at the tail end of his run, having made his way through the suburbs, then circling back to campus. Stiles felt more tired than usual. He hadn’t eaten dinner before he left, and the sounds his stomach made were almost deafening. A long howl came echoing up from the woods behind him and he shook it off, literally shaking his head. The second howl came swiftly on the heels of the first, louder and, more importantly, closer. 

Stiles looked over his shoulder, but it was hard to see; just empty pools of light under the street lamps. He picked up his pace despite his tiredness and hunger; he might be on campus, but his dorm was on the other side, still a ten-minute run away.

Something howled again, this time just ahead of him and to the right. Stiles’ pace slowed, his feet faltering. He swung his flashlight to the right, but there was nothing to see, just the green expanse of the football field. He swallowed, reaching for his pocket, and his keys. The dorm might be across campus, but his Jeep was parked just a couple hundred yards away in a student lot. Eyes sweeping the darkness, Stiles jogged sideways, unwilling to turn his back on the area where he’d heard the last howl. 

Stiles reached the lot and ducked among the cars, fumbling with his key ring for the correct key. The lot was dead silence and he wondered where all the _people_ were. The world hadn’t secretly ended, had it? Like, that would be great and all, but he really did not want to end up in _I Am Legend_. 

In the silence, he heard movement. A faint ticking noise. Like a clock. Or maybe like claws on asphalt. It took all his restraint not to start swearing. Instead he started tiptoeing down the rows of cars, cursing himself for not remember where he parked. He finally spotted his Jeep, his beautiful, lovely, never-again-taken-for-granted Jeep, and made the quickest, quietest beeline as he could in its direction. Something growled a few cars over, and he turned that beeline into a full-on sprint, knowing full well that dogs – wolves, coyotes, whatever – could hear like a hundred times better than he could, and they could probably follow the beating of his heart, because he sure couldn’t hear anything else, and here it was, finally, thank fucking god, his beautiful Jeep! 

Stiles slammed the key into the door and nearly ripped it off its hinges opening it. He flung himself inside just as something growled _right behind him oh god oh god_. And he snatched the door shut just in time, because he saw that black shadow and as he scrambled to turn the lock, it jumped onto the hood of his car. 

Stiles froze, his breath catching in his throat. This was not a dog. This was not a coyote. This was a goddamn, motherfucking _wolf_. It was massive; Stiles could hear the hood creaking under its weight. It wasn’t jet black; there was grey mixed in there too, but its eyes were pale, reflecting the yellow light from the street lamps, and they were looking right at him. 

“Fuck,” Stiles whimpered, sinking low in the driver’s seat, as though it would help hide him. “Fuck, fuck.” He scrambled for his phone before he realized he didn’t have it; he didn’t take it with him on runs. His dad would be furious if he knew – that was the kind of stupid mistake that he was always getting mad at Stiles for – but it was kind of too late for that. 

Stiles had his keys; he could drive off, theoretically, but any forward movement of the car would bring the wolf into his windshield, and with that much heft to the beast, there was no doubt it’d smash. He couldn’t go backwards, either; there was a car behind him. 

He sat in the car maybe fifteen minutes. The wolf stood on the hood, staring at him. Stiles was just wondering if maybe he should attempt driving after all when a howl rose up from the land somewhere behind him, somewhere beyond the football field. On his hood, the wolf’s head came up and its hackles rose. Stiles stared at all of its exposed teeth and thought it was a good thing he didn’t need to pee, because he probably would have pissed himself at that moment. 

The howl from behind him came again, sharp and, somehow, challenging. The wolf on the hood of his car raised its head and howled back, making all the skin on Stiles’ arms rise up in goosebumps. Then it jumped off his car and went running through the lot; he could see it in his rear-view mirror before it disappeared into the darkness of the football field. 

Stiles waited twenty, thirty seconds before scrambling out of his car and running faster than he’d ever ran, back to the dorms, and if he never left again, he didn’t think anyone would blame him. 

-

The next day was a Friday, and Stiles didn’t have class until one. He slept in, emotionally exhausted from last night’s events, then showered and headed over to the campus center to get a latte with as many shots of espresso in it as he could afford. He called his dad as he walked, eager to tell him about the wolf.

“Stiles,” his dad sighed upon pick-up. “I can’t talk right now. I’m on duty.”

“You’re never off duty,” Stiles shot back. “I’ll make it quick, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“No need to get drastic. What’s up?”

“Remember the wolf?”

“Coyote.”

“It’s not!” Stiles protested, joining the long queue at the deli counter. He lowered his voice so that the people around him wouldn’t be able to hear. “I saw it last night, Dad. It chased me through the parking lot. It stood on the hood of my car. I looked into its _eyes_.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Stiles, have you started experimenting again?”

“I’m not on _drugs_ , Dad!” Stiles exclaimed, frustrated. “I saw it!”

“Okay, okay,” his father said calmly. “Let’s say you did. If there’s something out there, and it’s approaching humans, Stiles, then it’s dangerous. You need to stop going out at night. I’ll call the local game warden and see what he’s got to say. But until I get back to you, don’t do anything stupid.”

“What do you think I’m going to do, go track it down?” Stiles replied. “After class today, I’m planning on not leaving the dorm until class on Monday. It’s ordering in food and watching movies. I’m not getting my throat torn out, thanks.”

“Good,” his father sighed. “Is that all?”

“What?” Stiles had just realized that his Adonis was standing in line, just two people ahead of him, hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket. Stiles hadn’t seen him at this angle before; fuuuck, but he had a nice ass. 

“Stiles? I’m hanging up now.”

“What? Oh, yeah, bye, Dad.” Stiles hung up and absently slipped his phone into his pocket. He stared at the back of the man’s leather jacket. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but his Adonis seemed a bit too old to still be in school. Nontraditional, maybe – he’d taken more than one or two gap years, by the look of it. Stiles had never seen him around campus before, though; it wasn’t like this was a big school, and he definitely would have noticed him before. Transfer student, then? Or maybe he was one of those people who only took two classes a semester and took like ten years to get a degree. 

His mystery man was at the counter now, and Stiles heard his order. “Just a small coffee.”

Stiles abandoned his plan to get some complicated latte. If he ordered coffee and moved fast enough, he might catch the guy while he was putting in his cream and sugar. Shit, but what if he drank it black? He seemed like that kind of guy. Maybe Stiles could pretend he was moving in whatever direction Adonis was and accidentally bump into him. 

Stiles was almost dancing in his anxiety by the time he reached the counter. “Largecoffeeplease,” he said in a rush, watching his Adonis make his sweet way across the room. He grabbed the cup from the barista’s hand before she’d even got the cover on, threw a five dollar bill in her general direction, and turned around so fast that extremely hot coffee went slopping over the edge and all over his hand. 

He bit back a whimper of pain and cast about the room; he seemed to be in luck, for the man had just reached the counter where they kept the cream and sugar. Stiles practically sprinted over, only to find himself faced with a sudden attack of nerves at the last minute. He set his coffee down on the counter next Adonis’s, slopping more around, and reached for the cream as he watched the man rip open packet after packet of sugar and dump it into his coffee.

“S-sweet tooth much?” he managed. This got him a raised eyebrow. Encouraging. “Hey. Um. You gave me a ride the other night?”

“Oh.” The man gave him a long look. “You’re the talkative one.”

One? Did this guy make it a habit of picking up hitchhikers? Weird. “Hah. Yeah, that’s me. Um. You’re in my behavioral pysch class.” Stiles tried not to stare at his face too intensely. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Well, more than he already was. Stiles had a tendency of doing that to people. 

“Right. I thought I saw you.” 

“Um. Stiles,” Stiles said, offering his hand to him.

Adonis raised a heavy eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Stiles,” he said again. “It’s, uh, my name.”

“Your parents named you Stiles.”

“Well, no,” Stiles said uncomfortably, “but no one can pronounce my real name, including me, so it’s just Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

The man regarded him for a moment longer, then shook his outstretched hand, his grip firm. “Derek.”

Stiles grinned, slipping back into his comfortable shell at the exchanging of names. “Rad. Hey, I don’t mean to sound intrusive, but are you new here? I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you around.”

Derek’s lips went thin and he picked up his coffee (which Stiles estimated was, at this point, seventy-five percent unmelted sugar and twenty-five percent coffee-flavored sugar water). “I came here for a while. Then I stopped. Now I’m back.”

“Oh, awesome. Good on you for wanting to finish. Are you a psych major?”

“No. Conservation biology.”

“Sweet! Well, I mean, if you ever need any help with class work or anything, I’m a psych major, so I could help you out,” Stiles offered. For a brief moment, he considered telling Derek he was starting a study group, ala _Community_ , but decided against after remembering how well that had worked out for Jeff and Britta.

Derek raised another hefty eyebrow at him. “Will your patients ever be able to get a word in?”

“What? Oh, no,” Stiles laughed. “I’m doing Child Psychology. Even I can’t stand up to the babble of six-year-olds.”

“Hm.” Was that a smile? It was the lifting of one side of Derek’s mouth, anyway. Stiles was going to count it. 

Outside, the clock in the green space began ringing out eleven o’clock. “Shit,” Stiles swore. “I have to go to class, sorry. Um, it was nice meeting you? Officially? Say hi to your Camaro for me, okay? I’ll see you Tuesday!”

As he walked away, a pleased flush spreading over his face, Stiles heard Derek say, “I’ll look forward to it.”

Stiles spun around, walking backwards so he could shout back, “That sounded distinctly sarcastic, you know! I’ll have you know that my friends think I’m a goddamn _treasure_ to have around!”

He saw the expression on Derek’s face before he turned again. That was definitely a grin. Chalk one up to Stiles. 

-

“I saw you at the campus center today,” Danny said from the living room, where the TV was playing some terrible MTV reality show. Stiles stood in the kitchen, cooking chicken on the stove. 

“Yeah?” he replied, pouring teriyaki sauce in the pot and turning the heat down to let it simmer. He turned to lean against the counter. He could just see Danny, who was sitting sideways in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the other one. Danny turned his head to look at him and grinned. 

“I saw that guy you were talking to. Who is he?”

“He’s that guy I told you about the other night – the one who gave me a ride. Turns out he’s in my psych class,” Stiles replied. He stirred his chicken thoughtfully. 

“You’re crushing on him, aren’t you?”

“Hmm,” Stiles said vaguely. 

Danny twisted in his chair. “You want to fuck around tonight?”

“Not really.”

“Stiles!” his roommate exclaimed. Stiles raised his eyebrows at him. Danny grinned. “You never turn me down. You seriously like this guy, don’t you?”

“Leave me alone,” Stiles groaned, turning back to his chicken. Behind him, Danny laughed, but stopped talking. As Stiles pushed the chicken out of the pan and onto a plate, he knew Danny was right. He liked Derek. Derek was the first person he’d ever met that made him too nervous to talk. Stiles’ heart pounded when he saw his face, his stupid fucking angry _perfect_ face. And he’d only seen him three times! Jesus. 

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and went to sit in the living room with Danny. He was already obsessed, and they’d only talked _twice_. He wondered how he’d feel two weeks from now, after they’d had a few more classes together.

-

Two weeks later, Stiles had not stopped obsessing, though he and Derek’s relationship hadn’t really gone anywhere. Stiles wasn’t even sure if he could call the two of them friends. Their relationship, as it were, consisted mostly of Stiles babbling nervously during downtime in class, too stupidly nervous to think. Derek’s main contributions to the partnership were short, mostly one-word answers to Stiles’ inane questions and dark glowers that left Stiles weak at the knees. So far, Stiles had found out that Derek lived “off campus,” his greatest goal in life was to “die early so I don’t have to hear you talk any more,” and his favorite color was “shut up, Stiles.”

Derek couldn’t hate him, though, Stiles reasoned. He always sat next to Stiles in class, though maybe that was because he disliked Stiles marginally less than everyone else in the class, judging from the stony look that passed over his face when anyone asked their professor a stupid question, or when anyone talked, really. 

Stiles thought he was getting through to him, though. Derek’s face softened when Stiles talked about how he was worried about his dad’s heart and how his mom had told him to take care of the sheriff while she lay dying in the hospital. He laughed out loud when one day Stiles face-planted coming up the lecture hall stairs. So did most of the class, but Stiles saw Derek’s face, heard his surprisingly warm “hah!” of laughter. 

The trouble was, Stiles didn’t know what to do next. He had never tried to date anyone before. He didn’t know if Derek liked guys. They weren’t even truly friends at this point. He spent a lot of time hanging around in the campus center, hoping that Derek would come in for coffee, but it appeared that first time was a fluke, because Stiles never saw him come in. Derek also seemed to be doing just fine with the class work, so Stiles’ earlier offer of help goes unheeded. Stiles simmered quietly, taking his interactions with Derek in class, bringing them home and turning them extremely pornographic in his head. He jacked off every night to the thought of Derek touching him – a hand down his pants, breathing into his ear hotly, fucking him senseless. 

Yeah, he was obsessed.

-

Stiles found himself in luck one day. Driving to the grocery store, which was a stupidly long distance from campus (and it was a hot day – the idea of going for a run carrying plastic bags that would stick to his skin every time he brushed against them made him want to gag), he saw Derek out running, jogging in the opposite direction of Stiles’ car. 

For a moment, he could only stare at the way Derek’s shirt clung to his body, a vee of sweat down his broad, well-defined chest. Stiles wished he could straddle that chest, lick the sweat off Derek’s skin. He was almost past Derek, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity make Derek pissed. His window was already open, so Stiles stuck his head out and shouted, “Work those legs a little more, sexy!”

Derek stopped running to glare after the Jeep. When he realized it was Stiles inside, he lifted a hand and flipped him off. Stiles waved back cheerfully.

When Derek came into class the next day, Stiles greeted him with a sad sigh. “No shorts today? I wanted to admire those legs of yours a bit more.”

“You’re an idiot. You know that, Stiles?” Derek growled, slumping down in his seat. 

“People keep telling me, but I don’t believe them,” Stiles replied airily, flipping open his notebook. Derek rolled his eyes as their professor began her lecture. Stiles took notes diligently but in a lull, as the professor pulled up a video on the projection screen, he leaned toward Derek. “Hey, I was thinking.”

“Won’t that overheat your brain?” Derek hissed, watching their professor struggle with her computer. One of the students went up to help her. 

“Oh, harr harr,” Stiles said. “I was wondering if you wanted to go running together sometime.” Derek looked at him expressionlessly, and he continued hurriedly, “I’m still kind of new at it, but you looked like you knew what you were doing. I was hoping you could give me some pointers.”

Derek breathed out through his nose, but Stiles was heartened by the fact that he appeared to be thinking it over. As the professor finally got the video going, he said, “Fine, but if you collapse, I’m leaving you for dead.”

“Like a true friend,” Stiles sighed. 

-

They started running together every Monday evening. Derek lived off in town somewhere, but he would come back to campus to meet Stiles outside his dorm. The first few times were hard for Stiles. Derek spent a lot of time barking about his posture and breathing. Stiles kind of felt like he was at boot camp, but he didn’t mind, and Derek didn’t seem to mind that Stiles was a shitty athlete, though he barely broke a sweat in the beginning. 

“I’m probably going to regret this,” Derek said at one point, “but you should be able to talk when you run without getting out of breath. That’s how you know if your pace is too much for you.”

“Is that an invitation?” Stiles panted. “Because I will talk your ear off.”

“Already knew that,” Derek replied. “Do your worst, Stilinski. I’ll have you doing five miles a night in a few months.”

Stiles couldn’t help but grin at that; Derek seemed to think that they’d be doing this for a while, and he was a-ok with that. “All right. Ask me questions and I’ll talk.”

“Fine.” Derek’s heavy eyebrows pulled together as he thought. “What do you do to keep yourself entertained while you run?”

Stiles thought about this. “Nothing, really. Sometimes I think about stuff, but I try not to. I like to look at things, notice stuff.”

“Like what?”

Stiles sighed. “Like…oh, I don’t know. When I started running at home, I would look at all the houses on our road and realized there was a lot I’d never seen. They’re all these big old houses and I noticed, you know, like, the little stained glass windows some of them had, and these weird little carved cherubs dudes our neighbors’ house had under the eves. And the people down the road, the Stephens, they’ve had this statue in their side yard since I was a kid, but I never really _looked_ at it, and I was running and I realized that it’s a fucking buffalo. They had a statue of a buffalo in their yard and I never noticed. I always thought it was it was one of those deer targets hunters have. How do you miss something like that?”

“So you’re an observer,” Derek said. “That’s good. People miss a lot of little things in this world, things that aren’t important, but they are. It makes you appreciate things more, when you notice stuff like that. I get…I get frustrated by people who can’t appreciate nature. People who go out into the woods and are bored by it – I want to slit their throats. There’s so much going on all around them, and they don’t fucking see it.”

Stiles stared at Derek. It was the most he’d ever heard him say. Derek’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead of them. “I like the woods,” Stiles said quietly. “I like how they smell and how quiet it gets when you go in deep enough.”

Derek glanced over at him and nodded almost approvingly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“What about you, then?” Stiles asked. “What do you do when you run? Listen to music?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t really like music. I listen to books.”

“Oh?” Stiles quirked up an eyebrow. “Like what? Anything you’d be ashamed for someone to see you with a physical copy of? _Harry Potter? Twilight?_ Oh my god, please say you don’t listen to _Twilight_.”

Derek glowered at him. “Non-fiction, Stiles. And,” he added, almost mumbling, “ _Lord of the Rings._ ”

They had to stop so Stiles could bend over and gasp for breath after Derek punched him in the stomach for laughing too loudly. 

Their evening runs continued, and they started running together on Thursdays, too. Stiles found it easier to run when he had someone to talk to, take his mind off the physical stuff, and it did not hurt at all that that person was Derek. It seemed easier for Derek to talk while they were running, when his mind was half occupied with keeping his body moving, and Stiles enjoyed their banter thoroughly. 

They’d be running for about twenty minutes, discussing Stiles’ irrational fear of parking garages (“Too many horror movies have taken place in them!” Stiles protested over Derek’s laughter), when Derek asked him a question he seemed to have been thinking about for a long time. 

“The night I gave you a ride, you weren’t cramping up. Something scared you. What was it?”

Stiles slowed unconsciously, his thoughts turning to that night. “Well,” he said slowly, kind of embarrassed, “you know that wolf everyone’s been talking about? I thought it was following me.”

Derek stopped short, a frown coming over his face. “It was following you?”

“Yeah.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “I could see it running in the trees. And…that wasn’t the only time.”

Derek’s brow furrowed. “You saw it again?”

“It followed me.” Stiles let out a shaky breath. He’d only told his dad about this. “I made it to my car and it jumped on the hood and stared at me. Fuck.” He had goosebumps just thinking about it. “It just stared at me, and then another one howled somewhere and it ran off.”

Derek rubbed a hand over his forehead, his face grim. “And this didn’t worry you?”

“Of course I was freaked out!” Stiles exclaimed. “But I mean, what am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t go running by yourself in the dark, you idiot,” Derek snapped back. 

“I don’t any more,” Stiles grinned. “I’ve got you, haven’t it? But really, a wolf’s not going to attack a person, is it?”

Derek stared into his eyes. “Never underestimate the power of a hungry beast,” he said softly, dangerously, and it seemed to Stiles like he was talking about something else entirely.

-

Two nights later, Stiles saw the wolf from his window, trotting carelessly across the soccer field. The howls that night were so close, it could have been sitting under his window.

-

One miserable rainy evening found Stiles and Derek jogging far away from campus. It was disgustingly wet and cold out. Stiles had tried to dig in his heels, complaining that he didn’t want to run in the rain. Derek dug in _his_ heels, and insisted that it would be good for Stiles’ character. Derek was a lot stronger than Stiles and got his way, though not without much cursing and dark looks on Stiles’ part. Derek seemed to be immune to his glowering, possibly because he was the source of so many himself and had built up a tolerance. 

As they ran down the road, Derek breathing evenly and Stiles panting a bit, the headlights of a car coming the other way illuminated a deer crossing the road. The oncoming car slammed on the brakes as the deer sprinted out of the way, but lost traction on the wet road and came skidding across the lanes toward them. Stiles froze up. Unlike the deer, all he could do was stare as the car came sliding toward them. Derek, however, moved faster, picking Stiles up under the arms and physically flinging him into the ditch. As Stiles hit the ditch, he heard a grunt and crunch of metal, then Derek’s body came flying down into the ditch, landing on top of him like a bag of bricks. 

As Stiles lay under Derek’s heavy weight, breathless and head spinning, he heard the car peel away down the street, and if there had been any air left in his lungs, he would have raised a fist in the air and shouted all his favorite insults, which included, among others, chuckle-fuck and douche canoe (one that he used on Jackson as often as he could).

"Derek," Stiles wheezed, pushing at the man's body. God, he was seriously built like a brick wall. "Derek. Are you okay?" He managed to shove Derek off him and sat up, panting. He was absolutely soaked, but apart from some future bruises where he'd hit the ground, he seemed to be fine. Derek, though...

Stiles pushed at Derek's shoulder, shaking him. "Hey!" he said, almost shouting, his voice going high with alarm. "Derek!" Derek didn't respond. It was too dark to see his face, so Stiles began casting around in the dark, trying to find his flashlight, which he'd been holding when Derek flung him in the ditch. It couldn't have gone far, but Stiles could t locate it. He fumbled for his phone instead, which he’d started carrying on his runs after the run-in with the wolf. The weak light barely illuminated his hands, but he waved it over Derek’s face and could see his eyes were closed. He dialed Danny's number as his hands started to shake. It was really fucking cold out here.

"Danny!" he exclaimed when Danny finally picked up. "Thank God. I need you to get out here. Derek and I were running and he got hit by a car, and the car just drove off, and I can't find my flashlight so I can't see if he's hurt, and-"

"Where are you?" Danny interrupted patiently.

"I don't know!" It was almost a wail, which would have embarrassed him if he was paying any attention. "Out on Winchester Road somewhere. We passed that old mill like ten minutes back."

"Okay. Okay," said Danny. "Just calm down. I'm coming out, but you should call 911."

"Don't."

Stiles jumped at the sound of Derek's voice. "Shit," he hissed. "Are you awake? Danny, I have to go. Don’t call 911." Without waiting for a reply, Stiles hung up his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. "Derek?"

"Stiles."

"Are you okay? Why don't you want me to call 911?"

"It's not that bad." He saw the dim shape of Derek try to sit up, but then he groaned and laid back down. "Fuck."

"Where are you hurt?" Stiles asked immediately. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel. He started touching Derek, running his hands down his arms to see if anything was broken. Derek sighed impatiently.

"It's my hip, Stiles."

Stiles nodded, realized Derek couldn't see it, said, "Okay." He moved his hands down Derek's torso, trying not to think about how this would be arousing at any other time. He felt torn cloth, then Derek sucked in a breath as Stiles' fingers brushed against the edge of a wound just above his pelvic bone. "Sorry," he whispered, following the edge. It was bigger than his hand, an area of torn skin. He couldn't see it, but he was pretty sure it was bleeding heavily; he could smell the coppery scent of blood. Derek was breathing slowly, deliberately.

"We should really get you to a hospital," Stiles told him timidly.

"I'm not going to the hospital," Derek snapped. "Help me get my shirt off."

"Keep it on," Stiles urged. He didn't know much about injuries, but he didn't want Derek going into shock, and it was cold out here. Stiles pulled off his own shirt, wrung as much water as he could out of it, and pressed it against Derek's hip. He must have pressed too hard because Derek snarled and put his hand over Stiles'. Alarmed, Stiles tried to pull his hand back, but Derek tightened his grip, not letting him go.

They sat in silence for nearly ten minutes. Stiles was shivering uncontrollably and Derek said, "Sit next to me." Stiles shifted, careful not to move his hand from Derek's wound, and sat against his side. Derek's body was hot, and Stiles wondered if that was his body reacting to the injury. He was surprised when Derek leaned against him heavily, his head on Stiles' shoulder. He tried to smile, but his teeth were chattering too hard.

Just a few minutes later, Stiles spotted the lights of a car sweeping down the road toward them. He waved his free arm and the truck behind the lights pulled off the road in front of them. Danny came tumbling out of the passenger's side door, looking worried.

"Jesus, Stiles!" he exclaimed at the sight of them. "Are you guys all right? We need to get you to a hospital!"

Derek didn't even lift his head; he just mumbled, "I just need to rest."

"Help me get him up," Stiles said to Danny. He was afraid to look at the wound on Derek's hip now there was light to see by. He got to his feet, struggling to pull Derek up with him. Danny came hurrying down into the ditch while behind him, Jackson got out of his truck and put down the tail gate so they could slide Derek into the back. Stiles clambered in after him and covered them with a tarp. It wasn't warm, but at least they wouldn't get any wetter. Stiles pulled Derek's head into his lap and stretched forward so he could keep a hand pressed to the wound.

"Hospital?" Jackson asked, raising an eyebrow at Derek.

"I'm going to slit the throat of whoever says that next," Derek remarked, his eyes closed.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Back to the dorm."

It was a miserable journey back to campus. Every bump and dip in the road make Derek hiss in pain, and the rain felt even wetter when it was hitting them at fifty miles an hour.

Jackson parked haphazardly in a handicapped spot outside the dorm building and between the three of them they managed to get Derek inside and upstairs without anyone noticing.

As they carried him into the apartment, Danny said, "Where are we going to put him?"

Stiles but his lip. They didn't have a couch, so they couldn't dump him there. He sighed. "My bed, I guess." He gripped Derek under the arms a little tighter. "You better not bleed all over my sheets."

Derek mumbled something he couldn't understand. Stiles shook his head at Danny and the three manhandled Derek through the living room and onto Stiles' bed. Stiles wiped rainwater and sweat from his brow.

"Okay," he said, bracing himself. "Let's see what's going on with you." He took a deep breath and pulled his bloody t-shirt off Derek's side. "O-oh, okay. That's not the best. Could be worse, though," he added quickly.

"I'll get the first aid kit," Danny muttered, ducking out of the room. Jackson followed him, white as a sheet.

Swallowing, Stiles carefully lifted Derek's shirt, so he could see the injury to its full extent. He winced. Yeah, there was a lot of torn skin, but it didn't look too deep. Derek's shorts had ripped as well, but the skin underneath was red, not broken. His hip, though...

"You might want to go get stitches, dude." Stiles swallowed again. "I mean, you're missing bits of your fuzzy pink outer layer. I think I can see gravel in there."

"Leave it," Derek said, not opening his eyes.

Danny came in with the first aid kit, passed it to Stiles, and promptly left again. He looked green around the edges. Stiles sighed. "Looks like I get to be nurse and doctor tonight."

He washed the wound with hydrogen peroxide. It had mostly stopped bleeding, which was heartening, but it looked awful. Derek lay still as he worked, his breathing slow and even, eyes closed. Stiles talked as he worked, which was the only way he could keep himself from panicking. He knew it irritated Derek, but if he didn't keep talking, he might just pass out, and this was a pretty major favor he was doing, so Derek was going to have to suck it up.

"You have any plans for spring break? My dad and I are going camping up in Redwood National Park. Dad loves those trees, but I've never seen them. Have you?"

As he talked, Stiles dabbed a layer of antiseptic cream on the wound, doing his best to keep a layer of cream between him and what looked like muscle. He breathed evenly through his mouth and wiped the extra cream off on his bloody shirt, which he was definitely throwing out. He laid gauze over the wound and taped down the edges, using his fingers to smooth the tape down. He paused with his hand still on Derek's stomach, and looked at his face. 

Derek's eyes remained closed, his chest rising and falling slowly. Stiles wondered if he was asleep. His eyes moved down Derek's body; now that everything was settled, he had the opportunity to admire the broad chest and defined stomach his demolished t-shirt revealed. Stiles stole another glance at Derek’s face, relaxed, but still slightly angry, and spread out his fingers, pushing his palm flat against Derek's warm skin. He could feel the blood rushing under his skin. He'd never felt anything so _alive_. Derek caught his wrist and Stiles’ breath hitched. He froze, a guilty flush reddening his cheeks.

"You're still shaking, Stiles," Derek said and his voice, though stern, was softer than usual.

"Yeah?" Stiles realized Derek was right; he was still bare-chested, wearing only his running shorts. He'd been so focused on taking care of Derek that he hasn't even noticed how cold he still was. "Oh, don't worry about me. When I was a kid, my dream job was to be Frosty the Snowman."

Derek opened one pale eye to glare at him. "Stiles."

Stiles patted his hand comfortingly. "It's warm in here, so I'll melt away soon, but have no fear; I'll be back again someday."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Go take a shower. You stink of blood."

"You're no bed of roses yourself, princess," Stiles replied haughtily, pushing himself to his feet. A shower _did_ sound pretty wonderful, though.

When Stiles stepped out of his room, shutting the door behind him, a wave of cool air hit him and he started shaking twice as hard. "Fuck," he muttered, sagging against the wall. He'd been more stressed than he realized, but at the same time he was pretty proud of himself. He'd only freaked out a little, but he'd gotten them rescued and patched Derek up without a hitch. His dad would be proud.

Stiles crossed the living room and stepped into their bathroom, which was roughly the size of a hat. He turned on the hot water and, as steam began to fog the room, put his back to the mirror and twisted his head so he could see. His shoulder blades and lower hips were darkening with bruises from where he'd hit the ground so hard. He didn't know how Derek had moved so fast. Derek...fuck.

Stiles stripped out of his shorts and boxers and stepped into the small shower. He leaned against the wall and slid a hand around his dick, mouth opening at the contact. All he’d done was touch Derek’s skin and he was half hard. Jesus. He closed his eyes, dreaming of pressing himself against Derek’s firm body, of Derek pining him to the bed, fucking him until he couldn’t breathe. He was so hard it hurt, and he hunched over, fucking into his hand until he came with a soft gasp. 

He leaned back against the shower wall and stared up at the ceiling. He felt miserable again. Derek was so close he could almost _taste_ him. He’d just had his hands on the abs of the hottest guy he’d ever met, and he didn’t even know if Derek liked guys. And if he did, would he even be attracted to him?

Stiles stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the fogged mirror, staring at unhappily at his hazy reflection. Derek was _hot_. Stiles was…cute, at best. He was tall, about the same height as Derek, but he looked smaller because he had little muscle mass. His face was weird. The last girl he’d hooked up with had told him she thought his slightly upturned nose was “adorable.” That was not what he was going for. 

He ran a hand over his short hair. He felt immensely tired suddenly. What would be really nice right now would be to curl up in his bed, but the thought of returning to Derek frightened him. How had the world become so warped that knowing there was a hot guy in his bed made his hands shake? That was supposed to be a good thing. “Whatever,” Stiles mumbled, and brushed his teeth. 

When he finally padded back into his room, wearing slightly damp boxers, Derek was laying in the same position he’d left him in. Stiles ignored him and pulled open his closet, wincing at the squeal the door made. He pulled out a pile of blankets. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked him. 

“I’m going to sleep on the floor,” Stiles muttered. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am!” Stiles snapped, more harsh than he meant to be. He pretended to be looking for something in his closet; he didn’t want to look at Derek’s face.

Derek didn’t speak for a long moment. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and his voice had that weird soft yet stern note in it. 

Stiles closed his eyes, tears burning at the corners. “I’m just…I’m just tired,” he whispered, not trusting his voice. He pressed the back of his hands to his eyes, breathing in deeply. 

He heard Derek shift. “You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he said, and his voice was very soft. “Come over here.”

Stiles didn’t move for a long moment. Then he gently set the blankets down on the floor, shut the closet door, and turned to look at Derek. Derek had propped himself up on Stiles’ pillows and thrown back the covers, inviting him in. Stiles scratched at the back of his head before making up his mind. He climbed into bed, carefully climbing over Derek and squeezing into the space between Derek and the wall. He pulled one of his pillows from under Derek with a grunt of effort and flipped onto his side, his back to Derek. It was going to be an uncomfortable night; he’d slept in this bed with Danny before, but Danny’s shoulders weren’t as broad as the English Channel.

“You should take off that shirt,” Stiles grumbled into his pillow. “It’s starting to smell a bit past date.”

“That’s me,” Derek said stoically. Stiles could feel him shifting, pulling off his shirt and tossing it to the floor. “Rotten to the core.”

Stiles snorted into his pillow. If Derek was making jokes, that meant it was time to get some rest. Ignoring Derek’s heavy presence next to him was easier than expected; Stiles fell asleep almost instantly. 

No howling came from the woods that night, and Stiles slept soundly, without dreams. When the alarm on his phone jolted him out of an all-too pleasant sleep, he was startled to find himself pressed up against Derek’s side, one of his legs pressed between Derek’s. Furthermore, Derek had an arm around him, hand on Stiles’ hip like he was a goddamn teddy bear. Stiles didn’t know what to do. Derek appeared to still be asleep, and he didn’t want to wake him up to find them in such an awkward position. His phone was going off, though, and Stiles knew that it wasn’t going to stop. 

Derek solved the problem for him. Without even opening his eyes, he reached a long arm down and patted around on the floor for a moment before lifting up Stiles’ shorts from the night before. His phone was in the pocket, ringing. 

“Fix it,” Derek growled.

Stiles took his shorts from Derek, fished out his phone, shut it off, and handed it back to Derek, who set it on the nightstand. Stiles chucked his shorts back to the floor and tried to relax. 

“Uh,” he said quietly. Derek’s arm tightened around him. “We’ve got to go to class.”

“Not today.”

Stiles blinked. “Sorry?”

“No fucking way I’m going to class this morning after last night,” Derek muttered. “You either. Go back to sleep.”

“Oh.” Stiles was fine with this idea. “Sure thing, dude.” He closed his eyes and tried not to think about just what his knee was pressing up against between Derek’s legs. He concentrated on breathing instead, matching Derek’s steady in and out. It didn’t take long for him to fall back asleep. Skipping class, sleeping in, and being pressed up against a freaking Adonis were like the bonus levels to last night’s wild adventure game. Oh yeah, he was cool with it.

Stiles next woke up on his other side facing the wall, being aggressively spooned by Derek, who had his arms clamped around Stiles like a vise. Stiles could feel Derek’s forehead pressed against the back of his neck, his breath hot between his shoulder blades. Stiles was okay with this. Stiles was so very okay with this that, still in a dreamy, almost drunken state, he pressed himself back against Derek, which got him a pleased rumbling noise from the man behind him. Stiles smiled sleepily, then stilled, realizing that if he continued down this path, there was going to be some trouble in his pants. He tried to think of something else, but it was a terrible downward spiral; the harder he tried to think of something else, the more Derek became all he could think about.

Derek shifted, bringing his hands up to cross over Stiles’ heart. “Your heart’s beating like a rabbit’s,” he murmured, voice vibrating pleasantly against Stiles’ spine. He rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ back and Stiles shuddered faintly at the rasp of Derek’s stubble against his bare skin, his breath coming out of him in a rush. “Thanks,” Derek said, his face pressed against Stiles’ back.

“For what?” Stiles’ mouth was very dry. 

“Fixing me up,” Derek murmured. “Last night.”

“Oh, sure,” Stiles said weakly. “No prob.”

He felt Derek pull his face away, and he lifted the arm that wasn’t trapped under Stiles’ body to touch his shoulder blade. Stiles winced; the skin there was tender. “You’ve got some impressive bruises back here.”

Stiles wiggled out of his grip and flipped over. “Yeah? And what about you? How are you doing?” He reached for the bandages on Derek’s side, but Derek slapped his hand away like the dessert plate was going around and he’d had too many cookies already or something. Stiles glowered at him and reached again. Derek grabbed his wrist and growled, “Leave it!” Stiles stuck his tongue out at him, his other hand darting out and peeling back the bandages before Derek could stop him. 

They both went very still. Stiles looked at the smooth, unmarred patch of skin under the bandages. He looked at Derek, then back at his stomach. “What the fuck,” he began, his voice going high. 

“Stiles,” Derek said.

Stiles ignored him. “What the hell is going on? Did I dream it or something?”

“I heal quickly—”

“Quickly?” Stiles repeated. “Quickly? Derek, you had skin missing. That doesn’t just grow back overnight! What the fuck is going on with you?”

Derek shrugged, that flinty look settling back into his face. “What do you want me to tell you? I’ve always been like this.”

“This is not normal,” Stiles said, jabbing his finger toward the missing wound. “This is _abnormal_ , Derek.”

Derek seized his upper arm and said, “Does it really matter?”

Stiles blinked at him furiously. “Of course it fucking—” he began, only to be abruptly cut off when Derek pulled him down and kissed him. 

Stiles wanted to give in. Oh, fuck, he wanted to give in so bad. Derek’s lips were soft and his movements gentle, and Stiles was half hard already from spooning. But he also knew that Derek was trying to distract him, and that just made him angrier. He put his hands on Derek’s chest and pulled away from him, his face bright red. “You must think I’m a fucking idiot,” he spluttered. “You fucking asshole!”

“Stiles—”

“I’m not dealing with this now,” Stiles snapped, pulling himself over Derek and landing on the floor. Derek tried to catch his wrist, but Stiles dodged, turning and punching him as hard as he could in the place where he was supposed to be injured. Derek’s face turned a peculiar pale color.

“Stiles!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Stiles was already across the living room and in the bathroom, locking the door behind him and turning on the water in the shower. He didn’t get in, however; he leaned against the bathroom door, heart pounding in his chest. He listened and eventually heard Derek leave, slamming the door behind him. 

Stiles climbed into the shower, still in his boxers, and slid down the wall to sit on the stall floor. His limbs felt like pudding. He couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened. Things were so good, and then, suddenly, the shittiest they could be. What the fuck was wrong with Derek? How could he have healed so quickly? It didn’t make sense. He crossed his arms over his head, eyes burning again. None of it made sense. 

-

Danny came home before Stiles got out of the shower, and he gave him a very worried look when he finally emerged from the bathroom. "Is everything ok? You were in there for an hour."

"It was probably longer than that." Stiles replied, running a hand over his head.

"Did everything go ok last night? Sorry I bailed on you, but blood makes me puke."

Stiles shrugged wearily. "Last night was fine. This morning was fine. This afternoon..."

"What happened?" Danny asked sharply. "Did Derek do something to you?"

"No," Stiles sighed. "Yes. I don't know. We were in my bed and it was so fucking comfortable, a-and then I took the bandage off his hip, just to check on it, you know? And there was nothing there."

Danny frowned. "What do you mean, nothing?"

Stiles waved his hands in the air, trying to express himself. "You saw it last night, didn't you? Big, gaping wound? Copious amounts of blood? Stiles playing doctor?"

"Yeah, okay?" Danny looked green at the memory.

"Well, it was there, right? And when I looked this morning, there was no injury. Not even a scab."

Danny's brow knit together in a frown. " How is that even possible?"

"I don't know!" Stiles exclaimed. "I asked him, and he wouldn't tell me! Then he kissed me!"

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Not like that," Stiles said furiously. "He did it because he was trying to distract me, but I'm not an idiot. It's not like I'm some three-year-old whose silence can be bought with candy."

"So what are you going to do now?" Danny asked quietly.

"I don't know," Stiles repeated, and he could feel his eyes burning again. "He's hiding something from me, and I shouldn't have to deal with that."

Danny leaned forward, head in his hand. "Look, there's got to be a reasonable explanation. I know you really like him, Stiles, and that doesn't happen to you often—”

"Ever," Stiles muttered.

“—so do you really care if he heals fast or whatever? Is it worth it?"

Stiles bit his lip. Danny watched him, face neutral. Finally Stiles said, "I'm going to bed."

"Think about it!" Danny hollered after him.

Stiles did think about it. He thought about it for hours, as the twilight outside shifted into true evening. He sat at his desk, trying to work on an assignment. The bed was a zone to his right he was doing his best to ignore. He didn't know what he had expected to find when he came back to his room, but the bed had been neatly made. He wasn't sure if it was apologetic or spiteful, a kind of "haha, fuck you, I'm angry too, but I'll still make the bed while you cry in the bathroom." Or maybe he was reading into things.

By the time he finally faced the elephant in the room and got into bed (the sheets smelled like Derek, _fuck_ ), he knew he wanted Derek. He'd know it all day, really, but he was still something of a man-child, and trying to be the bigger person was difficult when it was so much easier to wallow in misery and selfishness. He picked up his phone, wanting to send Derek a text, but ultimately set it down again, knowing that if he did, he'd be up all night waiting for a reply. The thought of not getting a reply made his stomach twist. Better out it off till tomorrow, when he'd be distracted by classes.

Still, it took a long time before Stiles fell asleep. He lay in bed, smelling Derek on the blankets all around him, thinking about how good it had felt to have a body pressed up next to him. Such a simple thing, but he ached for it badly; the touch of skin against skin, the sound of slow, steady breathing, the beating of synchronized hearts.

Stiles rolled over, blinking back tears for the third time that day. He really did not want to fuck this up.

-

Stiles sent the text after he got out of the shower the next morning. 

_sorry i freaked yesterday. can we talk?_

As he suspected, he checked his phone neurotically throughout the day. Texts from Danny, Boyd, his dad, even a sour message from Jackson, but nothing from Derek. The stress made Stiles physically ill; his stomach turned in knots all day, keeping him from eating.

Finally, late that night, as he sat on his bed, textbooks open all around him, his phone buzzed. Stiles snatched it up and flicked open the message.

_sorry. left my phone in the car. lets talk. coffee at ten?_

Stiles' shoulders sagged with relief. He'd been so worried that Derek would just ignore him, or respond with a blunt "No." Sometimes Stiles forgot that for all his stony looks and short sentences, Derek was human too.

_if we are going to be in public i will do my best not to make a scene (just kidding) (really)._

His phone buzzed a second later. Just one word.

_stiles._

He grinned.

_if i cry, you have to buy the coffee._

He could almost hear the grinding of Derek's teeth in the next one.

_fine. see you tomorrow._

-

The next morning, Stiles got out of bed feeling nervous. He supposed he should feel happy or something, but the thought of seeing Derek’s face frightened him. What was he going to _say?_

Stiles showered, dressed, heart pounding almost painfully fast in his chest, and headed for the campus center at ten. There, he sat in a chair and waited, agitatedly tapping his foot against the floor. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. At the thirty minute mark, Stiles pulled out his phone.

_are you coming or what_

He set his phone on the table and leaned back, looking around anxiously.

After an hour and a half, Stiles was forced to accept that Derek wasn't coming. He walked back to his dorm slowly, heart heavy. He tried to tell himself that there was a good reason Derek hadn't come. His car had broken down and his phone was dead. He'd slept in…like, _really_ slept in. He'd been attacked by the wolf. Or maybe he had decided he didn't want to deal with a kid who had dealt with his problems by punching Derek in the stomach and then locking himself in the bathroom.

Once back in the dorm, Stiles hunched over in one of the uncomfortable living room chairs and had his first panic attack in nearly six years. It was bad. He’d forgotten how bad they were. He’d been on anti-anxiety meds for years in high school because of how bad they were. They were so frighteningly bad that just the thought of having one had been enough to make him go into one. 

An attack hit him now, and it was a doozy. His heart began pounding madly in his chest, leaping and stuttering over itself frantically. He pushed his head between his knees, gasping for breath while, around him, the room spun and danced and pulsed with light. He started crying. He couldn’t help it; couldn’t stop any of it. Crying made the attack worse. It always did, but he always cried. There were tears rolling down his face and dripping off his nose, and he couldn’t breath because his heart was doing its best to burst out of his chest, and it _hurt._ He ended up lightheaded, as he always did, from lack of air and crying too hard. That was what usually ended the attacks; the realization that he might accidentally kill himself if he didn’t calm down. 

Stiles forced himself to suck in huge gulps of air, and pushed them out slowly, like his therapist had taught him. He got himself back under control slowly, sitting up and wiping off his face. God, he was such a baby. No wonder Derek didn’t want to talk to him. The thought forced a small sob out of his mouth and he shook his head firmly, sending salty tears flying off his lashes. Stop that. It’s – he looked at the clock hanging in the kitchen – nearly twelve, and you’ve got class at one.

He made himself get up, make lunch, eat. His eyes kept trying to tear up and he squeezed them shut, chewing his sandwich more ferociously than necessary. He went to class and, after, a long run. It felt good, but weird. He’d grown so used to Derek running at his side. Stiles shook his head. Nope. No thinking about him. 

He texted Derek once, later that night. He rewrote it several times. He didn’t want to sound like a crybaby, and he didn’t want to sound angry. He tried so goddam hard. 

_hey. didn't see you earlier. everything ok?_

Stiles toyed with the last sentence. “Where were you?” sounded needy and jealous. So did “You said you’d be there.” “Are we ok?” seemed like it was asking for trouble. “Did you get lost?” sounded petulant and fake.

Derek never responded. That night, Stiles laid in bed and listened to the wolf howling outside. It sounded heartbroken, somehow, and infinitely lonely. Stiles sympathized wholeheartedly. 

-

Derek wasn’t in class the next day. Stiles sat with his feet tapping the floor nervously. He felt sick, like, actually physically sick. What if he was hurt somewhere? Stiles had once seen an episode of some television show about a man whose wife had disappeared. Everyone, including the cops, though he’d killed her, but then it turned out she had gone off the road in her car and sat there for more than a week before being found and rescued. What if Derek had been driving too fast in his flashy Camaro (late for his meeting with Stiles, so of course it was his fault) and he’d hit a deer or something and gone careening off the road? What if he’d fallen down the stairs in his house and was just laying there, alive, but with his neck broken?

The next few days were no better. He got no texts from Derek, not even a reply to the one that said _are you dead? if you are dead, can your ghost please text me back? :( _He’d been sure that one, at least, would get him a shut up, stiles.__

__He wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t like there was anyone else he could talk to, find out if they’d seen Derek. As far as he knew, he was the only person on campus Derek talked to. And he didn’t even know where Derek lived, so he couldn’t go check his place._ _

__He decided to call his dad, because he always had answers._ _

__“What do you want?” his father asked. He sounded tired._ _

__“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said weakly._ _

__“Stiles?” The sheriff’s tone changed completely. He knew Stiles better than anyone, after all, and he recognized the stress in his son’s voice, the breathlessness that preceded a panic attack. “First off, deep breath, please. Second, what’s wrong?”_ _

__Stiles did as his father asked, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out through his mouth. He felt marginally better. “You know…how I told you about my friend Derek?”_ _

__“The runner?”_ _

__“Yeah.” Stiles paused, his throat tightened._ _

__“Stiles?” his father asked, worried about the silence. “Did he do something to you? If he hurt you, I swear to God—”_ _

__“No, Dad, it’s not that,” Stiles said weakly. “It’s just – we were supposed to have coffee the other day and he never showed, and he wasn’t in class the next day, and I don’t know who to talk to. I don’t even know if he has any family, and—” His breathing was getting worse, and his father heard it._ _

__“ _Breathe _, Stiles,” the sheriff commanded. “We’ll find him, don’t worry. Do you know where he lives?”___ _

____“No,” Stiles admitted._ _ _ _

____“Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do. First, go to the dean at school. Maybe he had a family emergency. If he’s taken a leave from school, they can tell you. If they don’t know, or can’t tell you, call me. I’m going to run his name and see if anything pops up. If anything, I’ll get his most recent address. Okay?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles exhaled slowly. “Okay. Thanks, Dad. You’re my savior.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t know about that,” his father mused, “but you’re welcome.”_ _ _ _

____“Hey, did you ever hear from the fish and game guy?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, about the wolf? Yeah, I talked to him just before you called, actually.”_ _ _ _

____“And?”_ _ _ _

____“Well, don’t go spreading this around, but I guess he’s found signs of at least three in the area.”_ _ _ _

____“Three? I thought you said there were no wolves in California!”_ _ _ _

____“Not officially, but according to the game warden, they’ve got a huge range. Some of them have territory that’s hundreds of miles across. But anyway, he said they have a body. One of them was hit by a car a few days ago, torn all to shreds.”_ _ _ _

____“What color was it?”_ _ _ _

____“He didn’t say.” His father paused. “You feeling better now, kid?”_ _ _ _

____“A bit.” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, which was clammy with cold sweat. “Thanks for all your help, Dad. I’ll talk to the dean tomorrow.”_ _ _ _

____“You do that, and let me know what they say,” his father said. “Just…don’t panic, Stiles. Maybe he had some sort of family emergency. Some people just can’t function right when something big like that’s going on. After your mom…” His voice went quiet, just like it always did when the sheriff talked about his wife. Stiles winced. “After your mom passed, I could barely get it in my head to keep you fed. There were tons of people calling this house, and I couldn’t answer any of their calls. So. So keep that in mind, all right?”_ _ _ _

____“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said quietly, and hung up. He tilted his head back, taking in a deep breath, and went to dinner, because what else could he do? It was a Sunday evening; all the school offices were closed, so he couldn’t talk to the dean. Maybe Derek would be in class on Tuesday. Maybe Dad was right, and he’d left for some reason._ _ _ _

____It was pretty dark out by the time Stiles finished dinner; he’d gone late, just before they shut the doors. He walked back to the dorm quietly, hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie. He felt – well, not quite good, but better than he had before he’d called his dad. Rounding the corner by one of the athletic buildings, Stiles heard quick footsteps behind him, and jumped when someone touched his arm. He turned quickly._ _ _ _

____There was a man behind him, not that old, maybe thirty. He didn’t look weird or crazy or anything – quite the opposite, if anything; he was pretty cute - but Stiles took a step backward. Something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was his eyes; they were weirdly pale, and reflected the moonlight._ _ _ _

____“Can I help you?” Stiles asked uneasily._ _ _ _

____The man gave him a long look. “Are you Derek’s friend?”_ _ _ _

____“Huh?” Stiles blinked. So there _was_ someone else in the world who knew Derek. “Uh, yeah, but I haven’t seen him in a few days.”_ _ _ _

____“I know,” the man said. “He asked me to give you a message.”_ _ _ _

____“A message?” Stiles blinked again. Why did the guy’s face look so weird? His brow seemed a lot heavier than it had a second ago. “What did you say your name was?”_ _ _ _

____“I didn’t,” the man snapped, and there was definitely something wrong with his face. Did people grown hair like that?_ _ _ _

____Stiles backed away until his back hit the brick wall of the athletic building behind him. “Uh, no offense dude, but I think you need to see a doctor. Like, right now. Why don’t you go—”_ _ _ _

____The man snarled – like, actually _snarled_ , like a dog or something – and then suddenly Stiles was lifted off his feet and he was screaming. The man’s hands were against his ribs and it felt like knives had been shoved into his chest, burning hot and digging deeper and deeper until he thought maybe they’d reached his heart. Then the man pulled his hands down, down across Stiles’ skinny chest. The cloth of his hoodie and t-shirt ripped like paper, and Stiles had the unpleasant experience of hearing his blood hit the ground. It sounded like rain on dirt. _ _ _ _

____“This is what Derek said to tell you,” the man growled, through teeth that looked like fangs. _“Stay away from him.”_ And he flung Stiles aside like he weighed nothing at all. Stiles hit the concrete with a painful smack. Something in his chest cracked and more blood came rushing out of him. It hurt so badly he couldn’t even scream. All he could do was lay on the ground with blood pouring out of him and watch his attacker walk away into the night. _ _ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

____When Stiles opened his eyes, he was laying on his back in a hospital bed. He recognized the scene quickly; it had, unfortunately, been repeated many times in his youth, probably due to an overabundance of recklessness and curiosity. Now, it seemed, the pattern was determined to continue into his adult life. He felt curiously floaty, like he wasn’t really there at all. Like he could just lift up and take off into the night. That would be pretty cool, actually._ _ _ _

____His father came into the room while he laid there thinking about flying. The sheriff looked exhausted and weary with worry. A cup of coffee in his hands and – Stiles flicked his eyes around a room – his coat on a chair next to Stiles’ bed suggested that he’d just left to grab a drink. He set the coffee down when he saw Stiles awake, putting a gentle hand on his son’s forehead._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” his father said, trying to smile. “How’re you doing?”_ _ _ _

____“Peachy,” Stiles said, and his voice was muffled. He realized he was wearing a oxygen mask. As he came into further consciousness, he became aware that he couldn’t feel his chest at all. He tried to look down at it, but there was a blanket pulled up to his shoulders. “Dad,” he tried. “Dad, what…?”_ _ _ _

____“Easy, easy,” his father said, sitting down, and putting his hand over Stiles’. “You were attacked, Stiles.”_ _ _ _

____“But how did you—”_ _ _ _

____“The school called me. I got down here as fast as I could.”_ _ _ _

____“How long—”_ _ _ _

____“Yesterday night. It’s five in the morning now. You were in surgery for a while. Whatever attacked you left you with some deep claw wounds and a punctured lung. You’re lucky someone heard you yelling. You could have died.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles turned his head to look at his dad. The sheriff looked back at him. He didn’t look upset, but Stiles could see the worry deep in his eyes. It was the same look the sheriff had walked around with when Stiles’ mother was dying. It hurt him to see it._ _ _ _

____“I’m fine,” Stiles tried to tell him, but he wasn’t sure if his father could really understand. “I’m on cloud nine.” He giggled._ _ _ _

____“You’re pumped full of drugs, that what you are,” his father sighed, sipping at his coffee. “Anyway, I talked to the game warden. He thinks it might have been a bear, maybe a mountain lion that got you. Do you remember?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles’ eyes widened. He remembered the man, the way his face went crazy. “It wasn’t a bear, it was a guy,” he whimpered. “Dad, it—”_ _ _ _

____“Stiles,” his dad said, as gently as he could, “it wasn’t human. You’ve got claw marks on you. Knife wounds don’t look like that.”_ _ _ _

____“Dad!” Stiles cried. “I know what I saw! There was a guy, and he picked me up and threw me!”_ _ _ _

____“Stiles—”_ _ _ _

____“I know what I saw!” Stiles repeated, tears sliding down his cheeks. It was important, he had to make his dad understand, so he could get an APB or whatever out. Get the police looking for a handsome man with a messed up cave-man brow and a mouth full of fangs. “He was like some kind of were-man or something! _Dad!_ ” The heart-rate monitor next to his bed was going crazy. His dad was on his feet, looking around, looking worried. _ _ _ _

____Two nurses came trotting in, a doctor right on their heels. The nurses pushed Stiles back onto his pillows while the doctor fiddled with his I.V. drip. His eyes grew heavy almost immediately. “I know what I saw,” he mumbled, just before slipping into darkness once again._ _ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

____The second time Stiles woke up, his room was bright with sunlight. His dad was still in the chair next to him, head back and snoring. He didn’t look very comfortable. Stiles laid back among his pillows. He could feel the pain in his chest, but it was far away, bearable. Bearable, hah. He remembered freaking out last night, and knew it wasn’t going to do him any good. No one was going to believe that he’d been attacked by a werewolf, or whatever that guy was. At least the wolves hanging around campus made sense now. He didn’t want to think about what the guy said about Derek. What he said Derek said. How did he even know Derek anyway?_ _ _ _

____When a nurse came in to check on him, he asked, “Can I leave? I have to go to classes.”_ _ _ _

____The woman laughed pleasantly, but shook her head. “You lost a lot of blood, hon. You’re going to have to stay here for a few days.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles remained in the hospital for a week and four days. He tried to make his dad leave, but he refused, leaving only to run to his hotel, shower, and change his clothes. He spent every night sitting in the chair next to Stiles’ bed, sleeping uncomfortably. Danny and Jackson came to visit, which Stiles appreciated, even if Jackson’s idea of a get-well note was to write “get better soon, you pussy,” on the inside of a sympathy card. When he got tired and didn’t know how to make them leave, he said, “Do you want to see what it looks like?” and started lifting up his shirt. Both boys went pale and almost pushed each other over trying to get out of the room. Stiles started to laugh, but laughing made his chest hurt and he stopped._ _ _ _

____He got out of the hospital on Friday and spent the weekend lying in bed, watching movies on his laptop. He wondered if Derek was back. He couldn’t even check his phone, because a bunch of blood had gotten into it and when he tried turning it on it made a weird sighing noise and died. His father brought him a new one; it was the last thing he did before reluctantly leaving Stiles and driving back to Beacon Hills._ _ _ _

____Stiles had to give himself plenty of time to walk to class on Monday; his whole body was stiff, and he couldn’t swing his arms while he walked, like a normal person. He probably looked like a zombie, which was okay, because he felt like one, too. They’d given him pain meds at the hospital, which his father had put Danny in charge of doling out responsibly. Danny had allowed him exactly half of one this morning, and even that was enough to push Stiles maybe not to cloud nine, but cloud four or five. It was a pleasant buzz, and enough to take the sharp edge off his pain. Everywhere he went, people stared; by this point, the entire campus, if not the entire state of California, knew that he’d been attacked by some wild creature._ _ _ _

____He woke up on Tuesday nervous. He hadn’t seen Derek in nearly three weeks, and their last communication had been a disaster. Was he back yet? How would he react? _Stay away from him._ When a wolfman tells you to do something and then does his best to rip your heart out, it seemed like you should do that thing, right? Stiles was so nervous he didn’t think it’d be a problem._ _ _ _

____When Stiles made it to class, Derek wasn’t there, which was kind of a relief and, but worrying at the same time. He sat down at the front next to Boyd, talking with the professor, who seemed very worried about him. As they finished their conversation and she turned to begin class, Derek came through the classroom door. He and Stiles made eye contact, but before Derek could react at all, Stiles turned his head to focus on the professor. He watched the front the entire class, never once turning his head to the back. Just the sight of him coming through the door had kicked Stiles’ heartbeat up to double-time, and he was not keen on having a panic attack while there were stitches in his chest._ _ _ _

____After class, Stiles was walking with Boyd when someone caught his arm. The sharp movement of his arm lifting pulled the stitches in his side and he gasped painfully._ _ _ _

____“Sorry.” It was Derek. Stiles jerked his arm out of Derek’s grasp. Boyd stopped walking, turning a dark glare on Derek. “Stiles, I just—”_ _ _ _

____“ _Don’t_ talk to me!” Stiles snapped. He was angry suddenly, so angry he could feel the blood rush to his face. So angry he wanted to punch Derek, ruin that perfect face of his. So Stiles wasn’t allowed to talk to him, but he could talk to Stiles whenever he wanted? How fucking _dare_ he. “Just fuck off, Derek!”_ _ _ _

____Derek’s face went stony. Stiles didn’t care. He twisted back around and stormed off as quickly as his wounds would allow, seething. Boyd followed him at a distance, looking awed._ _ _ _

____For the next two days, Stiles stamped around campus, wrapped up in anger and pain. People were exceedingly nice to him. The cafeteria workers let him get extra food, which he took shameless advantage of (let no one say Stiles Stilinski ever wasted food). Danny pampered him, which made Jackson jealous. His chest looked horrible, all full of stitches and half-scabbed, oozing lacerations, but he was going to have some super impressive scars._ _ _ _

____And he couldn’t stop thinking about Derek. He was so mad, so full of anger and confusion. All he wanted to do was talk to him, but at the same time, he wanted to punch him. Repeatedly. He didn’t have his number any more, so he couldn’t even send Derek as many _> :[_ faces per hour as was humanly possible._ _ _ _

____Derek solved some of these problems by appearing in front of him Wednesday evening as he hobbled home from his evening class. Stiles jumped backward, heart racing._ _ _ _

____“You know, I am really sick of men appearing out of the shadows at me,” he snapped, hand to his chest. Jumping backwards like that had hurt._ _ _ _

____Derek frowned. “Stiles,” he said, “where have you been?”_ _ _ _

____“Where have I been?” Stiles repeated, his face flushing. “Me? What about you? Where the fuck did you disappear to?” Oh, this was going to be good, Stiles thought to himself. And by that, he meant really bad. Here came the word vomit. “Who the hell do you think you are? You ask me to meet you for coffee, then disappear. You don’t answer my texts. You send some freaking monster to tell me to leave you alone and he rips me to shreds. Where the fuck do you think I’ve been, you idiot? In the hospital, trying not to die!”_ _ _ _

____Derek’s face shut down. “Who told you—”_ _ _ _

____“You,” Stiles said. He pointed a finger at Derek. He was kind of enjoying himself, truth be told. “You have confused the fuck out of me. I thought we were friends, but you don’t seem so sure. One day you’re laughing and the next day you’re ignoring me. You slept in my bed and cuddled me like a teddy bear and then you lied to me! I can’t,” Stiles gasped for breath. He realized he was crying and he hated Derek in that moment. “I can’t be around you. You’re wrapped up in my brain like a fucking, a fucking mind leech or something. You make me crazy. Shit.” He put a hand to his chest. His heart sounded like a drum in his ears. There was a panic attack on the horizon, and it was going to hurt like a mother fucker._ _ _ _

____Derek took a step toward him, looking concerned. “Stiles, come here.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m not doing anything for you!” Stiles gasped. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He bent over, pressing a hand to his aching chest._ _ _ _

____“Stiles,” Derek said again. He stretched his hand out to Stiles. “Come here.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles looked up at him and realized Derek was looking past him. Behind him, in the darkness, there was a low growl. Stiles whimpered._ _ _ _

____“Get behind me,” Derek said, his tone even. “And when I say run, you run.”_ _ _ _

____“I can’t.” Stiles whispered, taking a slow step toward him, clutching at his chest. “Not with these stitches.”_ _ _ _

____“Then get behind me,” Derek repeated. “I’ll protect you.”_ _ _ _

____There was another growl from behind him. Stiles stepped behind Derek quickly, fisting a hand in the back of his shirt to keep from falling over. This was quickly turning into one of the worst nights of his life, trumped only by the night he was mauled and the night his dad caught him in bed with one of his deputies._ _ _ _

____Derek spread his arms as the wolf stepped out of the darkness and into a pool of light under a street lamp. It stalked toward them deliberately, hackles raised, growling so low Stiles could feel it in his bones. His wounds ached, and he had the feeling that this wolf was the same creature that had attacked him the other night. Something about the eyes. They looked crazy._ _ _ _

____“Derek,” Stiles whispered, “what are you doing to _do_? It’s a _wolf_.”_ _ _ _

____“Sit down,” Derek told him, his eyes on the wolf. “Close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you to.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles did as he was told, mostly because he could barely stand at this point. He pulled his knees to his chest, even though the tightness hurt, and pressed his face to his knees. He heard the wolf snarl, and Derek walking away from him, the sound of him walking changing from shoes to…paws? Stiles lifted his head and saw, to his horror, a huge silvery-black wolf padding away from him, toward the other one. “Y-you!” he wheezed, and the wolf swung its head to look at him. He knew those pale eyes. He should have known, should have guessed. “You too?” He scrambled to his feet, the tightness in his chest squeezing. “You did this!” he yelled at the two wolves, pulling at his shirt, as if he could rip at the injured skin underneath._ _ _ _

____The further wolf tilted its head back and howled, sounding triumphant. The closer wolf – Derek, fuck – made the most frightening noise Stiles had ever heard and threw himself at the other wolf. Stiles didn’t wait around to find out what happened next; he took off, despite the pain it caused, running faster than he ever had in his life, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Furious snarls and growls rolled up the street behind him but, by some small miracle, they grew further and further away. Stiles made it to the dorm in record time, scrambling through the front door and up the stairs – like hell was he waiting for the elevator. He barely made it through the door to the dorm room before he was on the floor, hyperventilating._ _ _ _

____God, how could he have been so stupid? Derek had said those weird things about how he smelled, and how he could hear his heart. And the super fast healing. Oh my god. “Oh my god,” he repeated out loud, gasping for air. “Oh my god.”_ _ _ _

____“Stiles?” Danny had come out of his room, half naked, with Jackson gaping behind him. “Dude, what’s wrong?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles closed his eyes, urging himself to calm down, but it was impossible. He’d gone from furious at Derek (and, let’s be honest – he was still mad) to cowering behind him to fucking running away from his _wolf_ self, all in the space of a few minutes, and it was a lot of take in. Like, too much. He felt Danny’s hand touch his back and managed to gasp, “Don’t! Don’t!”_ _ _ _

____Danny jerked his hand away like he’d been electrocuted. Stiles coughed, choking on a sob, and the stitches in his chest pulled and burned like fire._ _ _ _

____Behind him, the door – which he hadn’t had the time to lock – smashed open. Derek stood in the doorway, blood running from his nose and cuts all over his body. Danny stumbled backward into Jackson, his eyes going wide._ _ _ _

____“Get out,” Derek snarled at them, and they ran for Danny’s room without argument, slamming the door behind them. Traitors! Stiles wanted to call after them, but Derek’s sudden appearance had sent his heart into a furious, off-pace battle with itself, and he could barely breathe to try and get it under control._ _ _ _

____Derek stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He dropped to his knees beside Stiles and picked him up, cradling him like a baby. Derek moved carefully, making sure not to let his stitches stretch. “Don’t,” Stiles muttered, but his body betrayed him, turning his face to press against Derek’s chest. Derek smelled like copper and sweat and wood smoke._ _ _ _

____“Breathe, Stiles,” Derek rumbled, sounding like his dad. But his dad didn’t press his face to Stiles’ neck. He didn’t give off warmth like a space heater. Stiles mumbled something weary and lifted his arm to clasp Derek’s neck. He could feel himself relaxing, his heartbeat slowing. His panic attacks didn’t usually end like this; he thought maybe Derek was doing something to him with his wolfy powers. Which he should really freak out about…but not right now._ _ _ _

____When Stiles’ heart had slowed to a somewhat bearable pace, Derek got to his feet, lifting Stiles like he weighed nothing. Super strength, Stiles thought wearily to himself. “What are you doing?” he mumbled._ _ _ _

____“Putting you in bed,” Derek replied, carrying him through the living room and into his bedroom. He somehow managed to hold Stiles in one arm (super strength, Stiles told himself again) and pull back Stiles’ sheets. Derek set him down gently, and Stiles reluctantly took his arm from Derek’s neck. Derek helped him pull off his shirt and jeans and Stiles sighed softly. His bed felt like heaven, his eyelids already growing heavy. What a fucking emotional roller coaster of a day. He was so exhausted he couldn’t even be bothered to worry about Derek’s weird little wolf problem. That was an issue for tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to sleep._ _ _ _

____Derek rubbed a hand over Stiles’ short hair, which sent a little shot of electricity tingling up through Stiles’ spine and said, “I’m going to use your shower.”_ _ _ _

____“Mm, sure,” Stiles mumbled into his pillow. He was asleep before Derek left the room._ _ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

____When Stiles awoke, he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that his face was pressed against Derek’s chest. He could feel the steady beat of Derek’s heart against his forehead. The man had an arm across Stiles’ side, keeping him close - not that he felt inclined to pull away._ _ _ _

____Stiles kept his eyes closed, thinking about last night. He was still mad at Derek for disappearing without a trace, but he wasn’t scared of him. Well, maybe a little, but that was understandable, right? But Derek had protected him. He’d stepped between Stiles and that other wolf. And despite what that crazy guy had said…Stiles had a feeling Derek had never told him to tell Stiles to stay away. Not if the way he was being cuddled right now was any indicator._ _ _ _

____Speaking of which. Stiles put his hands on Derek’s chest and pushed himself away. Derek’s arm tightened around him automatically and Stiles said, “Dude, let me go. I’m not supposed to lay on my side.” Derek’s arm relaxed instantly, allowing Stiles to roll onto his back. Derek rolled into him, pressing his face against Stiles’ shoulder, and though the man put an arm across his stomach, Stiles noticed he was very careful not to put any weight on his chest._ _ _ _

____Stiles tried not to think about how much he’d enjoy being pinned down and fucked like an animal. He tried not to wonder if Derek went, like, wolf-crazy when he was having sex. Instead, he said, “We need to talk.”_ _ _ _

____“So talk,” Derek replied. His breath was hot on Stiles’ skin and he tried not to shiver._ _ _ _

____“If I ask you any questions, are you going to lie again?” Stiles bit his lip._ _ _ _

____“No.”_ _ _ _

____“Really?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles squinted up at the ceiling. “If that turns out to be a lie, I’m going to be really pissed.”_ _ _ _

____“I won’t lie, Stiles.” Derek’s voice sounded a little dangerous. “And if you want to get technical, I didn’t lie to you. I _told_ you I was a fast healer.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay, fine.” Stiles closed his eyes again. “I guess we’ll start from the beginning. Where did you go?”_ _ _ _

____Derek breathed out evenly. “My sister died,” he replied._ _ _ _

____Stiles stiffened. He looked down, but all he could see was the top of Derek’s head. “What, seriously? Shit, dude, I’m—”_ _ _ _

____“It’s not your fault,” Derek said quietly. “And you were right to be mad with me. I should have texted you before I left.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles made a frustrated noise. “No, that’s—it’s ok. I’m sorry. I was mad, but I was worried, too. I thought something might have happened to you, which, I mean, I guess something did, kind of. Are you okay?”_ _ _ _

____Derek sighed. “I guess…I wasn’t really surprised when I heard. Laura always bucked the norm, took chances; it stressed our parents out. I knew she’d end up getting herself killed.”_ _ _ _

____“Wait – it wasn’t an accident? Was she a…was she like you?”_ _ _ _

____“Mm. It’s hereditary.” Derek shifted, his stubble rubbing against Stiles’ skin. Stiles really wanted to kiss him, but he tried to keep his head clear. Some things were connecting inside his head. Derek’s sister dying. Her being a werewolf. His eyes went wide. The dead wolf his dad had mentioned._ _ _ _

____“She was hit by a car?”_ _ _ _

____Derek lifted himself onto his elbows so he could stare at Stiles. “Who told you that?”_ _ _ _

____“My dad,” Stiles replied. “He said he talked to a game warden who had a wolf that had been hit by a car.”_ _ _ _

____Derek’s gaze darkened. “That’s what he tried to make it look like,” he snarled. “But I knew.”_ _ _ _

____“You knew what? Who did?” Stiles asked, bewildered._ _ _ _

____“Last night, you said that someone told you that I said to stay away from me, and then attacked you,” Derek said fiercely, his eyes boring into Stiles. “What did he look like?”_ _ _ _

____“Huh? I don’t know, it was kind of dark, but I saw his face change. I thought…I thought he might be the same person as that wolf last night.”_ _ _ _

____“And that’s the one you’ve been seeing around campus?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles nodded. “He was the one that jumped on my car.”_ _ _ _

____“That was…my sister’s mate,” Derek admitted bitterly. “I never liked him. There was something wrong with his head. We call it going rabid, but it’s not like what humans and animals can get. He was kind of…a sociopath, but my sister refused to see it. He was jealous, I think, of my sister’s love for me, and he killed her. If he had just been a wolf, he would have killed me – or tried – because that’s what you do in the wild. You kill the challenger and keep your prize. But because he had this sick human mind, he wanted to inflict pain, and he did that by killing her. And…by going after you, I think.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles watched Derek quietly. The werewolf scratched at his nose, looking toward Stiles’ closet. “So what’d you do to him, last night?” he asked quietly._ _ _ _

____Derek gave him a fierce, almost defiant look. “I tore out his throat.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh,” Stiles said. For maybe the second time in his life, he was speechless._ _ _ _

____Derek’s eyes fell to Stiles’ patched up chest and his brow furrowed further. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop this.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It was only the most excruciating pain of my life. No biggie.”_ _ _ _

____Derek frowned and put his face close to Stiles’ chest. Stiles swallowed. Was Derek _smelling him?_ Derek put his mouth over one of the long claw marks that ran down Stiles’ ribs and pushed his tongue up it. Every nerve in Stiles’ body was suddenly on red alert. _ _ _ _

____“D-dude!” he cried. “What the hell—”_ _ _ _

____“My saliva has healing properties,” Derek replied calmly. Stiles couldn’t see much of his face, angled as it was toward his chest, but he looked amused._ _ _ _

____“But I…I’m not supposed to get my stitches wet,” Stiles muttered. “And isn’t that…kind of disgusting?”_ _ _ _

____“Stiles, be quiet,” Derek said, before licking a long line over another injury. Stiles laid his head back on his pillow, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. It was very hard not to react to Derek’s mouth; his dick was trying to get rowdy. He thought fervently about how his chest had looked after he’d been attacked, about the way he’d seen bone under the shreds of his clothes, and how blood came rushing out of him every time he breathed. Stiles ended up feeling slightly nauseous, with no boner, and Derek staring at him._ _ _ _

____“What?” Stiles asked faintly._ _ _ _

____“You’re afraid,” Derek said, frowning._ _ _ _

____Stiles shook his head. “I was just thinking about that night. I just…Look, this…this werewolf thing, uh, I mean, what does it do to you? Do you go out every full moon and rip out sorority girls’ throats? I mean—”_ _ _ _

____“I can control myself,” Derek replied evenly. “That’s one of the benefits of it being hereditary. I’ve been like this my whole life. I don’t need the moon to turn, and when the moon is out, I can handle myself without a problem. Okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Stiles said. “Okay.”_ _ _ _

____Derek settled back down onto his elbows, his side pressed flush against Stiles’. He watched Stiles, kept eye contact until Stiles squirmed and had to look away. “Last night,” he said, his voice low, “you said I make you crazy.” Stiles froze. “Is that true?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles bit his lip, turning his face toward the wall. He could feel his cheeks flushing, betraying him, not like Derek couldn’t hear his heart going mad in his chest. “Yeah,” he said, finally._ _ _ _

____“And?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles swallowed. “What do you want me to say?” he exclaimed. “Jesus, Derek! I get hard when you touch me – when you _look_ at me funny! I jack off thinking about you. I think I might fucking love you, but where does this leave me, huh? As far as I can tell, you tolerate me. Maybe we’re friends. What?”_ _ _ _

____Derek bunched his eyebrows together. “You’re an idiot, Stiles.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, thanks,” snapped Stiles. “That’s _just_ what I wanted to hear.”_ _ _ _

____Derek shook his head. “Do you think I went running with you because you needed training? Granted, you do - you run like shit - but I wanted to be around you. You think Laura’s mate attacked you because I tolerate you? That I’m lying in your bed right now licking your wounds because we _might_ be friends?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles stared at him, mouth hanging open in a perfect ‘o.’ He recovered quickly, muttering, “I just didn’t think someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”_ _ _ _

____Derek made a low noise at the back of his throat. Stiles was pretty sure he’d made him angry. “Don’t sell yourself short, Stiles,” he growled. “Maybe you’re not GQ material, but you’re good enough for me. Good enough for anyone, but especially for me.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles continued to stare at him, his cheeks growing redder and redder, and all he managed to say was, “Did you just make a pop culture reference?”_ _ _ _

____Derek growled and pulled himself along Stiles’ body so he could press his face against Stiles’ neck. Stiles shuddered and turned his head, giving Derek better access. “This is me,” Derek rumbled, scraping his teeth against Stiles’ skin, “telling you that I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”_ _ _ _

____“Damn you and your poor communication skills,” Stiles said weakly, shaking a fist toward the ceiling. “We could have been boning months ago.”_ _ _ _

____He felt Derek grin against his neck. “We’ll just have to make up for lost time, won’t we?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, please. Is right now okay? Because I am good with right now,” Stiles said, putting his arms around Derek’s neck. The werewolf made a pleased rumbling noise and pressed his mouth to the point where Stiles’ jaw met his neck, then caught his mouth in a furious kiss._ _ _ _

____It was so much better than the last one, mostly because Stiles actually gave in this time, opening his mouth so Derek could lick into him. It was weird how gentle Derek was. He was aggressive, sure, but Stiles thought he’d be more…bitey or something. He jerked his head back and Derek froze._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” he said, “you’re not going to bite me, are you?”_ _ _ _

____Derek rolled his eyes. “I told you, I have control. The shift only happens if I use my fangs, and I’m not going to.” He snapped his teeth playfully, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Unless you don’t like being bitten at all.”_ _ _ _

____“No, no,” Stiles said weakly. “Please.”_ _ _ _

____Derek grinned, looking satisfied, and pushed Stiles' knees apart so he could kneel between them. The werewolf sat back on his heels, pulling off his shirt and leaving him in just his boxers, like Stiles. Stiles gazed up at Derek, eyes hungrily drinking in the swell of his muscles now that he could stare at him without it being weird. His boxers were starting to get uncomfortable._ _ _ _

____Derek paused, staring back at Stiles, his pale eyes half closed. "I can _smell_ you," he growled, trailing a hand down Stiles' skinny, marred chest, stopping on his stomach. "You're fucking delicious, Stiles."_ _ _ _

____Stiles' dick twitched and he made a pained noise, low and needy. "You can't just say things like that," he said weakly._ _ _ _

____Derek grinned again. "Let me make it up to you." He leaned forward, his mouth latching onto Stiles' collarbone. Stiles moaned, his hands reaching and digging into Derek's side, blunt nails pulling against his skin. The werewolf groaned, sinking his teeth into the sensitive spot where Stiles' neck met his shoulder. Stiles gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. Derek pressed his tongue to the bite mark he’d made and brought his hips against Stiles’ sharply._ _ _ _

____“Derek!” hissed Stiles. He could feel Derek against him, heavy and hard, blazing with heat. He hooked his legs around the werewolf’s hips, desperate for more friction. Derek tilted his head back with a heated grunt, moving his hips to match Stiles’. Stiles lifted his hands, grasping at Derek’s hair, pulling him down so they could kiss._ _ _ _

____Stiles moaned against Derek’s mouth when the werewolf slid a hand between them, rubbing his hand against Stiles’ cock, palming the thin material of his boxers. He grinned at the noise Stiles made and bit his lip before sliding backward between Stiles’ skinny legs. Derek pulled at the elastic band of Stiles’ boxers, snapping at the new skin revealed. Stiles watched Derek pull his boxers off, his eyes hooded and dark, releasing his dick to slap against his stomach. Derek made a pleased noise and fisted his hand over Stiles’ cock, thumb rubbing through the precome leaking from him._ _ _ _

____“Shit, shit,” Stiles said frantically, his hips moving on their own, thrusting against Derek’s hand. “Shit, if you keep that up, I’m—”_ _ _ _

____Derek grinned, looking entirely pleased with himself. He released Stiles’ dick and pulled at his own boxers. “You’ve got condoms?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles’ mouth went dry. “Y-Yes. Shit. Yes, please.” He twisted, fumbling in his nightstand drawer. He twisted back a moment later, triumphant, lube and condoms clutched in his hand. “He—oh.” His eyes had fallen on Derek’s dick and he swallowed. Derek wasn’t huge, but he was thick. Stiles wanted his mouth on that. He was actually reaching out a hand when Derek slapped him away. Stiles pulled his hand back, looking injured._ _ _ _

____“Focus, Stiles,” he said, clearly trying not to smile. Stiles stuck his tongue out at the wolf and laid back, heart pounding madly in his chest as he watched Derek roll on the condom, then slick his fingers with lube. Derek leaned over him, propping himself up with his clean hand and pressing his mouth to Stiles’ stomach, lips smoothing his stitches (which, Stiles realized distractedly, did not hurt nearly as much as they had when he’d woken up). While his mouth moved against Stiles’ skin, Derek’s other hand slid under his ass. Stiles sucked in air through his teeth when Derek’s first finger entered him. It wasn’t painful – he fingered himself sometimes, when he hadn’t gotten any in a while – but knowing that it was fucking _Derek_ doing it drove him mad. He moaned when Derek slid in a second finger, curling his digits and just brushing that spot that made Stiles swear and buck his hips. Derek turned his head and bit Stiles’ thigh, using his free hand to hold Stiles in place while he added a third finger. _ _ _ _

____“Derek,” Stiles groaned, his heels digging into the mattress. _“Derek.”__ _ _ _

____Derek’s eyes flicked from Stiles’ face to his stomach, where his dick was leaking precome. He gave a feral grin and slipped his fingers out of Stiles. The boy made a frustrated noise but Derek moved quickly, getting to his knees and pulling Stiles’ hips to him. He watched Stiles’ face as he lined himself up, pushing into him almost painfully slowly._ _ _ _

____“Fuuuck,” Stiles groaned, almost sobbing. “Fuck, Derek, please – _move_!”_ _ _ _

____Derek didn’t move faster. He kept pressing into Stiles, until his stomach hit the boy’s thighs. He stopped there, watching Stiles, who brought his head up to glare Derek._ _ _ _

____“Are you freaking out? I can’t read you yet, but I think you are. You’re not going to hurt me. As long as you don’t wolf out and bite me, you can fuck me as hard as you want.”_ _ _ _

____Derek tried not to grin. “Is that a request?”_ _ _ _

____Stiles rolled his eyes. “No, it’s a threat, you dumbass. Just fucking move!”_ _ _ _

____Derek did. He started slowly, rocking back and forth, barely withdrawing. Even that slight movement had Stiles moving underneath him, arching his back, his mouth open in a soundless _oh, oh_. He picked up the pace, until he was slamming into Stiles so hard Stiles had to brace himself against the wall, swearing and sobbing in pleasure. Derek shifted so that one of Stiles’ legs was up against his shoulder, the other caught against his ribs. Stiles _wailed_ as Derek thrust against his prostate (yeah, that was going to be embarrassing later). “God, please, Derek, touch me, fuck!”_ _ _ _

____Derek obliged, wrapping his fingers Stiles’ dick, pulsing with heat. He matched his strokes with his thrusts, which became erratic as he neared his own climax. Stiles barely lasted five strokes, arching his back and coming across his stomach in long streaks with a cry. Derek groaned as Stiles’ tightened around him and moved faster, rutting into Stiles with a fervor only broken when he came with a spasm, hips slowing as he spent himself in Stiles. Stiles watched him, skinny chest heaving, his amber eyes clear. Derek pulled out of him with a groan, sliding off the condom, knotting the end, and dropping it carelessly to the floor._ _ _ _

____“Dude,” Stiles said weakly, “I think I got jizz in my stitches.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh?” Derek leaned over him and ran his tongue over Stiles’ stomach, licking up his cum. Stiles watched him wide-eyed. He probably would have come, just at the sight, if he wasn’t already fucking spent. Derek licked his lips, grinning wolfishly, and collapsed back next to Stiles._ _ _ _

____“So,” Stiles said. “Same time next week?”_ _ _ _

____Derek shoved his face into the pillow. “Better be sooner than that.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles laughed. “Good.” He turned his head, pressing against Derek’s shoulder. They lay there in peace for a while, drifting in and out of sleep. “Hey,” Stiles mumbled after a while, “aren’t we supposed to be in psych right now?”_ _ _ _

____“Yep.”_ _ _ _

____“We are so failing that class.”_ _ _ _

____“Yep.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh well,” Stiles sighed. “That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”_ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing fanfiction since 2003, but haven't written any since 2008. I only saw Teen Wolf a month ago, and I'm still getting used to this 'verse, so forgive any oddness you might notice. I've got a lot of Sterek feels, though, so expect more tales soon.


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